Texas Schoolmarm
SOL 18: Narrowing the Lens: A Haunting Recollection
Posted on March 30th, 2018
Today’s slice is a memory from 2001 that came to mind this week as I was reading William Zinsser’s Inventing the Truth: The Art & Craft of Memoir. “Memoir narrows the lens, focusing on a time in the writer’s life that was unusually vivid.” My mom was an amazing woman who suffered for years with Lewey Body Dementia. Memories of being her guardian still haunt me. However, the passing years have blessed me with the perspective I need to share some of these painful memories.
I can still remember the meeting clearly all these years later. Having to rush from school to the nursing home, how the others were already assembled: the director, the social worker, and another person whose face I can’t recall. “This is a serious offense,” the director began. “We are required to hold this meeting to explain to you that if such an act of violence occurs again, we are required by law to dismiss Bette. The closest place that will accept her is the state mental hospital in Austin.
The room seemed to be closing in on me. The warm air blowing through the vent across from me made me regret having to rush straight from school, having no time to change out of the turtleneck and long corduroy jumper and tights that had seemed so cozy during my morning duty.
The door opened, and an aide entered, pushing Bette’s wheelchair. Once Bette’s chair was positioned to next to mine, the aide left. Time seemed to shift and slow itself as Bette and I sat there waiting, directly across the people who would determine her future placement. Sensing the tension in the room, Bette drew on her inner goddess. Straightening as best she could, she arched the dreaded eyebrow. Turning to me with a look of disdain, she spoke. “I’ve called this meeting today with these people to let you know that I’m cutting you off. I’ve let my lawyer know that you are not to receive another penny of my money. I’ve already given you more than I should, and it’s never enough.”
Watching the words come out of her mouth, my face grew hot. My skin turned clammy. The turtleneck clung tighter around my neck in an effort to choke me. Speechless, I turned to the director, silently pleading for him to intervene.
“Mrs. Clark, we are having this meeting to discuss the incident with your roommate. You must realize that if you behave violently again, you will not be allowed to remain here.”
“I had to defend myself,” Bette responded, her shoulders stiff. “She works for the CIA. She was sent here to kill me.”
Choosing to not to argue with my mom, the director again repeated his warning and turned to me, “We are about finished here if you need to go. Thank you for being here this afternoon.”
I slipped out of the room as the meeting continued. “Deep breath. Exhale slowly. Keep walking; the door is just ahead,” I whispered to myself. Once outside, I leaned against the building while a winter breeze blew across my face.